


The Rebirth of Dragons

by stormbornbxtch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, I don't want to give too much away, Jon Snow will not be forgiven, M/M, Pirates, Pregnancy, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Targaryen Restoration, easily, it just, just read it so it can make sense, the kids have relationships too, the targaryen restoration/resurrection/pirate fic I deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbornbxtch/pseuds/stormbornbxtch
Summary: Daenerys Stormborn died.At the hand of the man she loved, moments away from fulfilling all that she had ever wanted to life.She's dead.And then she isn'tWhen she takes her first breath of life for the second time, she has no memory of the life she lived before. Only fragments, ghosts of her past that she can never quite place. All she knows was that she was alone in that life but in this one, she never will be again.~~~~Based on the tweet I made on twitter where Drogon flies Dany to Essos, she's resurrected, pregnant and becomes a pirate queen who returns to Westeros fifteen years later with 100,000 ships, three warrior children and a new generation of Dragons. Description is terrible but please enjoy.





	The Rebirth of Dragons

It hurts. 

 

No one ever seems to wonder if it hurts. 

 

Breathing in, gasping for air and struggling to take it all in as life is thrust back into you all at once. The lungs,  lungs that weren’t functioning moments before, are forced back into their original purpose. Pushed to work after being completely shut down. The heart is suddenly pumping blood at an alarming rate, ice cold racing through fragile veins and the rest of the body tries to warm itself up again. 

 

It hurts, like a mill long out of use roaring to life,  It’s pieces splintered and weakened but it’s moving, magic flourishing through the subject acting as the oil its pieces very much need. 

 

A sharp pain flashes through her chest and her hand flies to her center. Right above her heart it rests, making a home above the scar without fully realizing. 

 

And with life, comes passion. Unadulterated emotions flowing through her, crashing like unrelenting waves of the harsh sea. For a moment, the body isn’t sure whether it’s drowning or regenerating. 

 

_ Fear, loneliness, betrayal, robbery. _

 

And  _ pain _ . 

 

A whirlwind of them consume her, an undeniable ache buried deep within her chest awakens. 

Rupture open like a sink hole in the center of the world. 

 

It’s the only thing she feels. 

 

Pain and emptiness.

 

Hollowed out like a shell of what she once was. 

 

Is that what she was now? A shell. A ghost of her former self. 

 

Her eyes burst open as the final remnants of death lose its grip of her and the cold clutches of it slip away in an instant. Life’s gentle and unforgiving hands envelop her once again. 

 

She’s breathing. 

 

The warm salt of the ocean  fills her nose as she does. The last time she smelled the sea this close she-what did she do? 

  
  


She inhales the oxygen that fills the atmosphere that surround her, she’s alive. She’s alive. 

 

For the second time, she’s taking her first breaths. 

 

Without a mother to coax her through the struggles of being gifted with life againe. 

 

A mother was supposed to do those things. Weren’t they?

 

Gentle hands pressed down against her shaking body, she’s shivering in a room warmer than spring. She’s never been so cold. There are words that she can’t make out being spoken to her, she can feel the panic and terror rising in her chest. Her limbs feel like lead weighing her down and learning to breathe again is maddening. 

 

She can’t move. 

 

Not fully. Not yet. 

 

Her newly revived violet eyes take in the world frantically as her mind tries to make sense of it all. Thoughts racing before she can fully comprehend them, question after question without any answer. 

 

it’s not very beautiful. 

 

The world. 

 

Its dim and dark within the stone walls that surround her. The only source of light were the torches hung in the corners. The only source of warmth are the gentle hands pressed against her body. A body that didn’t even feel like her own any anymore. 

 

Her eyes trace over the women encircling her like vulture. 

 

All eight of them are beautiful in...a strange, inhumane way. A beauty that seems untouchable, as if it were gifted to them by the gods themselves. 

 

Who are they? Why are they-what’s happening? 

 

Nothing makes sense, she understands nothing. She knows nothing. The realization sent a crippling fear through her chest and the gift of life is no longer the reason for her ragged breathing. A woman with hair as black as a raven’s wings and eyes greener than the great grass sea stands above her. Hands resting on her shoulders and she stares back at her like a frightened newborn calf looking for a mother that isn’t there. 

 

Her teeth clatter and despite the torches she feels no heat, only cold. She’s cold. She-she’s never been this cold. She doesn’t think she’s been this cold before? Has she? 

 

The Great Grass Sea stares down at her, studying her again an-the Great Grass Sea? 

 

Wh-where the sea is as green as grass? Or grass as blue as the sea? She knows it exist doesn’t it? She knows it does, it must. 

 

“Daenerys.” 

 

It’s the first word she can register that isn’t muffled noise in the background and she’s not sure what it means. Why she’s saying it? What language is it? It’s not Dothraki.

 

Valyrian. A Valyrian name. 

 

Valyrian is...Dothraki is...their languages she knows? Yes languages and she speaks them. Why? Why does she speak them? 

 

“My Queen are y-” 

 

The words surge through her like an ice cold dagger. A deep and fierce pain fill her chest, it leaves her gasping for breath, like a dagger rippling through her and she bolts upward at the sound. Ignoring the pain and weight of her muscles fighting against the action she’s just taken.  She feels exhausted and more alert than any human being should ever be. 

 

It doesn’t matter though, only the pain. Only the panic. She’s scrambles in effort to remove herself from the soft stone table they lied her on but her actions are futile. 

 

The raven haired woman doesn’t reach her in time when she moves. Instead another and she flinches away from them. No one touches her without hurting her eventually. No one can touch her. 

 

The pain hasn’t subsided, it’s blinding and her hand glides over a jagged piece of skin where her heart should be. Where her heart is. It’s hard like dragonglass and she feels her stomach drop as her fingertips trace over it. She’s gasping for breath again even though her lungs are past the point of trying to function, all she feels complete and utter fear and a staggering pain won’t weaken. 

 

Won’t dull. 

 

Won’t stop. 

 

When her violet gaze falls down to the scar, tears fill her vision. Falling down her cheeks for reasons she can’t fully understand. 

 

_ “We can break the wheel together.” _

 

_ “You are my queen, now and always.” _

 

Warm and wet, they tumble down as the feeling of heartache settles deep within her. She feels herself crumble at the memory of those two sentences. Fragments of what must’ve happened to her, fragments of who she must’ve been or what she must’ve done. Fragments she can’t put together. 

 

Why can’t she put them back together? What’s wrong with her?

 

She sees snow, and ash and feels steel in her chest.    
  
She can’t breathe. 

 

She can’t breathe. 

 

“Daenerys.” 

 

She died. 

 

“We’re not going to hurt you Daenerys Stormborn.” 

 

Daenerys Stormborn? 

 

Who is that? 

  
She’s dead.

 

She died. 

 

She doesn’t know how or why but she knows she died. 

 

Daenerys Stormborn? Wha-what even does that mean? 

 

Sobs wracked her body for reasons she doesn’t know. She’s disoriented and unsure of everything around her except for the ghost of memories she may have had. What happened to her? What-she doesn’t understand. Why can’t she understand?

 

She died. 

 

_ You are my queen _

 

_ Together _

 

A man’s voice, warm and welcoming only fill her with more anguish. The voice was comforting, why was it-why was it causing her so much pain? She doesn’t understand. Why can’t she understand?

 

She pushed her mind to recall anything, whatever she possibly can. She prays to unfamiliar gods in that moment. Muttering the words please from her lips, hoping that the skies above would hear her and  give her something. Anything. The world around her is muted as she tries to remember. Why can’t she remember?   
  


“Daenerys, you must breathe.” 

 

She turns her head, vision blurred by tears as another woman besides the raven calls the Valyrian name, she’s draped in red cloth and she grasps her shoulders gently. She smiles kind and wide, skin the color of the golden sun and hair kinked and coiled. She smiles and it hurts. She smiles and she feels pain. 

 

_ Dracarys  _

 

Loud and clear, ringing in her head like bells. She died and promises of peace couldn’t save her, it didn’t save them either did it? 

 

Who wasn’t saved? Why couldn’t they be saved? Did she fail them? Did she fail them all? 

 

“I-I don’t understand. I-I don’t understand.” Her words are hidden between sobs, cries she can’t control as an distress and agony swarm inside her. Consumes her for reasons she can’t understand.

 

Why is she crying? Why can’t she stop crying? 

 

Why can’t she understand?

 

Breathe. 

 

She has to breathe. Remember to breathe. 

 

“Daenerys, please be calm.” 

 

Is that her name? Daenerys? It must be. They keep saying it towards her.  Her names is Daenerys. Daenerys Stormborn. 

 

They were sure of it. 

 

But was she? 

 

She listen to the woman with golden skin and forces herself to be calm. Willing herself to breathe and push the panic away as much as she can.  

 

Letting it subside and wash over her like low tide. 

 

When her breathing turns less shaky and her tears less frequent, she forces herself to look at them. Shame filling her all at once, she shouldn’t cry. 

 

_ The blood of the dragon does not weep _

 

_ The dragons does not fear.  _

 

Is she a dragon? Why do those mean anything to her? 

 

She felt weak, Tears were for the weak, she wasn’t weak. She couldn’t be. 

 

Her gaze travels back to the woman in front of her, ignoring the reminder she held for her for another woman she loves and couldn’t remember. 

 

They were adorned in red, a different variation of the same color across their skin.  

 

All with the same pendant that glowed with a life of its own. 

 

It made her feel unsteady, like she didn’t belong.

 

“Where am I?” 

 

Who am I?

 

The women study her, blue, brown and green eyes tracing over her every feature. Like a never discovered book in the Citadel that the maesters had just found. A new thing to pick apart and memorize. She didn’t want to be memorized. She didn’t want to be picked apart. 

 

She feels too constrained. Too confined in the moment. Like a dragon struggling to breathe after first emerging from its shell.

 

A dragon? Why does her mind keep going to dragons of all things? 

 

“You are in Volantis My Queen.” 

 

Another jolt, a sharp pain in her chest. She wished for her to stop calling her that, anything but that. 

 

Volantis? A city, she knows that’s a city. She does. Or she did. 

 

“Your great beast brought you to us in the night. Nudged your body forward. I’ve read a great deal about the intelligence of dragons but yours has exceeded my expectations, he knew where to find my temple and what I must’ve done to save you. You raised him well my queen.”

 

Another ripple of pain in her chest and she screws her eyes shut to prevent herself from wincing or crying again. 

 

She had died. 

 

Hearing the words out loud struck her, she had known it but now having those suspicions confirmed..she died. Could they dead even ever truly be human again?

 

Her great beast? 

 

A dragon. 

 

_ Drogon _

 

Wails and screams fill her mind and guilt travels through her at the sounds. The memory of two dragons, young and full of life crashing to the ground. One, skin the color of softly spun gold crashing into the ice and dying alone. Sinking into cold sea. The other with skin that glistened like emeralds, injured and unsuspecting as he crashed into the warm waters. Another bloom of grief in her chest at the images that flashed in her mind. 

 

_ Viserion, Rhaegal...her sons… _

 

Dead. 

 

Like she was.

 

She swallows the sob that rises within her, she would not cry again. She would not be weak.  A gentle material cloaks her back. She shivers under it but finds herself grasping at the cloth, hoping for some semblance of warmth and comfort it may bring.

 

She was still so cold.  

 

She doesn’t understand. She needs to understand. 

 

“Who am I?” 

 

Her voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and broken as a few stray tears slide down her face.  She has to be calm, she had to be strong.

 

_ If I look back, I am lost.  _

 

How can she look back at the things she’s already lost? 

 

Who was she? 

 

It’s a question no one should ever have to ask themselves. A person’s identity is their everything and without it, they are nothing.

 

Was she nothing?

 

She pushes the thought away and forces herself to face the women who brought her here. They forced her back, they should know who they brought back.

 

Silence envelops the room, impregnable and absolutely terrifying. She can feel the panic rising once again in her chest, the stroke of fear she promised herself moments ago she wouldn’t feel. The longer they take to answer her question, they worse she felt. The more the weak resolve she had built threatened to collapse and she refused to be weak. She couldn’t be. 

 

They should know! They forced her to live again, t-to endure this pain, this confusion and

torment leaving her with meek shards of her former self. Sentences, sounds and painful reminders of a life she couldn’t remember. They should know, do they not know?! Was this a sick game to them?!

 

“Who am I?” Her voice is louder, shakier and they know she’s angry. But most of all they know she’s afraid. It’s most of what she feels, fear. She wished the emotion felt foreign within her skin but it doesn’t. Fear feels like home. 

 

_ A dragon does not fear. _

 

She must not fear. 

 

“You are  **_Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the Blood Old Valyria, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and the Known World, Protector of the Realms. The Lady of Dragonstone, Liberator of the Bay of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons.”_ ** ****

 

Her gaze turns to the red woman with the raven hair and the great grass sea eyes, her own widen as she tries to understand what any of what she had just said meant.  Her chest tightens and a gentle pain stabs through her at the word Queen. 

 

_ You are my queen.  _

 

Liar. 

 

Whoever said that...they hadn’t meant it. She thinks they hadn’t meant it, her gut is telling her it was a lie but her mind doesn’t know what to make any of this. She’s not sure of anything about herself, not even what these women are telling her. 

 

The only one that truly makes sense to her was the mother of dragons. It’s the only thing about the entire ordeal that feels familiar and right. 

 

She was their mother, somehow, someway,  she was. 

 

_ The dragons are my children.  _

 

Her hand cradles her forehead, rubbing soft circles over the skin as she tries to calm her mind. There’s an ache building inside her skull and she doesn’t need it, nor does she want it. 

 

She’d always be the mother of dragons, in this life and the next. It's who she was. She was certain of it. 

 

But was that all? 

 

The rest of the titles seem far-fetched, she couldn’t have earned them all in a single lifetime. Could she? 

 

Why did they bring her back? 

 

Almost all her children were dead weren’t they?

 

To suffer a life live without her children. 

 

No Drogon, he was alive. He was the great beast, her son who brought her here. He must’ve been, her knight in shining black armor. Pride swelled inside her, she has to see him. She has to see her son.

 

“Where’s Drogon?” 

 

No one answered her. 

 

“Where’s my son?!” Anger poured through her, they had kept her here. Forced her back to a life of suffering and they couldn’t even tell where her son was. One of the few things, the only thing, she could fully recall about her former life. 

 

“The process of revival is never an easy route to take. But it’s been chosen for you my qu-” 

 

“Don’t say it.” The words leave her mouth like venom and she ignores the ache in her throat as she does so. She’s not used to speaking, her lips are cracked and dry, for the first time she realizes she’s thirsty. She needs water, not pain.

 

She didn’t want pain anymore, she wanted relief. Pain and fear were two things that she was far too accustomed to, the last things she ever wants to feel. 

 

“Please, just don’t.”

 

It’s a plea and she feels like weak little girl begging for someone not to hurt her. 

 

She just wants to see her son. 

 

“Daenerys we-” 

 

“I don’t know who that is!” 

 

The anger ripples out of her like a volcano as she screams the words. She’s frustrated, pained, thirsty, tired and she doesn’t know who she is. Or who she’s ever been. 

 

She just wants to go home. 

 

Wherever home was. 

 

“Then what would you have us call you.” Another red woman speaks up, her features are tanned and eyes the shape and color of almond. An intricate tattoo made up of red lines covers her left eye but she seems to be one of the most welcoming of the all. The most comforting. 

 

_ Dany _

 

“Dany.”  

 

She says it without thinking, without knowing the possible meaning behind the name. But the voice that echoes it throughout her mind is kind and warm, reassuring. 

 

She wants to be Dany for now. 

 

Not my queen. 

 

“Alright then Dany.” 

 

The raven haired woman, the one who told her who she was or who she had been, makes her way from her side of the table and stands before her. 

 

“I understand you’re enduring an unforeseen amount of confusion and fear right now. It seems as if you’ve lost your memory which only complicates things further but it does not put an end to your purpose. The reason you’re here.” 

 

Her purpose? 

 

For the first time she felt relief knowing there was a reason why they’d make her suffer through all this. But what made them think she could fulfill it this time if she had failed in the first life? Why her? Why choose her again? 

 

“You my child, were a tragedy.”    
  


The words do not bring her peace, even as she places a gentle hand against the side of her face were her tears had dried. 

 

“Your former life was a tragedy but it gave way for a miracle. Miracles I should say. Before you met your end, you grew pregnant with children the Lord of Light believes will thrust in a new age of enlightenment for not just Essos or Westeros but for the entire world. The little ones inside of you right now, that the eight of us almost gave our lives to bring back, are more important than you can ever foresee. No longer shall you be a tragedy or just the mother of dragons. You are the mother of the chosen. You will usher in an era of greatness and magic with your children by your side, they shall bring the world into a time of peace and prosperity for all that walk this World.” 

 

She stares at her, more confused now than ever. 

 

How can she be pregnant? 

 

How can they dead give life? 

 

The mother of chosen? What did it even mean to be chosen? Or the mother of them nonetheless. 

 

It was all too much too fast. She didn’t even understand the world she was living in and yet she was destined to change it forever? 

 

She was going to be a mother and she couldn’t even remember her own. She had a mother didn’t she? She must’ve. 

 

The hollow feeling that swelled in her chest told her otherwise. 

 

She was going to have a family. Had she ever have a family? 

 

She wasn’t going to be alone. 

 

The realization struck her numb, had she ever known what that was like? Not being alone.

 

Was she worthy of finding out? Was she prepared for what this family-her hand fluttered to her stomach where her children were growing-would give her and the world? 

 

“Dany.”   
  
The raven haired woman moved from her cheek to clutch her chin and hold it up to her, a bold smile and reassured eyes stared down at her as Dany helplessly tried to grasp what she had just been told.

 

“You are meant for so much more than the idle death and mistreatment your first life gave you. You were born for greatness just as your children will be Daenerys Stormborn. It is known.” 

**Author's Note:**

> what do you guys think? I really hope this doesn't suck.


End file.
